


Small and Beautiful

by jungjeons



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Difference, Age Regression/De-Aging, Bottom Sam, Drunk Sex, Drunkenness, Hebephilia, Incest, M/M, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Pedophilia, Rape, Sibling Incest, Somnophilia, Top Dean, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-26
Updated: 2014-11-26
Packaged: 2018-02-27 03:30:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2677391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jungjeons/pseuds/jungjeons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is attracted to minors. Dean is also attracted to Sam. Then Sam gets de-aged on a hunt, and Dean doesn't have nearly as much self restraint as he thought he had.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Small and Beautiful

Dean’s drunk. Dean’s really drunk, and it’s not in the fairly pleasant, “I’ve been at the bar for a little too long and may have lost track of how many shots of whiskey I’ve had,” kind of way, but more, “I paid no attention to what I drank or how much I drank of it, so now I don’t know exactly how intoxicated I am.”

Dean is not sitting in this particular bar, in this particular moment, getting drunk off his ass by accident though, that’s for damn sure.

It’s because of that damn fucking hunt. Dean was doing okay, but then this rotten hunt had come along and everything had gone to Hell.

Dean has a lot of practise in suppressing his feelings. That includes insecurities, anger and any kind of inappropriate want he might feel for the wrong kinds of people.

He orders another shot and drains it quickly.

Sam had gotten himself de-aged. He had become that little, lanky, absolutely delicious thing that Dean is a sick person for wanting, and to make matters, worse, it’s not just Sam’s body that changed either. Sam is acting like a little boy too, and it’s driving him crazy with want.

Dean knows he’s sick - looking appreciatively at college students and jail-baits is one thing, but that term just can’t be used to describe the teens and pre-teens who catches Dean’s eye far too often. And as if that wasn’t enough, Dean wants his brother, which is pretty fucking sick too.

And now Sam is a little boy, around 12 years old maybe, and Dean has never wanted anyone as much as he wants Sam right now. It makes him feel unclean. Even more so that usual.

Dean orders another drink. Maybe this one will make him feel better.

-

When he leaves the bar, he feels even worse than he did when he came. The picture of sweet little Sammy, how he stripped out of his suddenly too big clothes, how he bent over when he pulled his sock off, how he looked up at Dean with that round, innocent face, aren’t leaving him alone. And the more he thinks, the harder it is for him to remember why he tried to drown his want in the first place.

Why did he go to the bar again? He’d much rather be with Sam. He really wants to be with Sam.

-

When he gets back to the motel, Sam is lying on his back on top of the covers. He’s wearing nothing but his underwear, and he’s sweating too. It is a hot night after all. Dean’s eyes linger at Sam’s legs. They are sprawled open, doing a good job of showing off his ass. Dean can feel himself getting hard as he takes in the sight.

"I’m just looking," he says to himself. And he is, he really is. Until the urge to reach out and touch Sam becomes too much to bear, and he finds himself brushing his fingers over Sam’s cheek, his lips, his neck. He strokes are soft and tender strokes, careful.

Sam is so pretty like this, the worry that usually darkens his features completely gone. He looks small and innocent, and Dean can’t stop himself. He doesn’t want to stop himself, he just wants to press his lips against Sammy’s, just this one time.

There’s a nagging voice in the back of his head, telling him that he shouldn’t, that it’s wrong, that Sam hasn’t agreed to this, but it’s easy to ignore. Sam won’t even remember it in the morning. It will do no harm. Besides, isn’t he entitled to one little kiss? This is his one chance of getting to kiss Sam, all small and cute, exactly like Dean wants him. Is it really so bad if he takes a little something for himself, just this once?

When he presses his lips against Sam’s, it certainly doesn’t feel wrong.

He hears someone let out a moan, and he’s almost certain it’s himself. He draws back for a moment, looks at Sam. Finds that he’s just as dead to the world as he was moments ago.

Figures. Dean can feel a faint trace of tears swelling in his eyes when he reminds himself that as far as he knows, conscious, adult Sam doesn’t even want him. He wouldn’t moan at the touch of Dean’s lips. Most likely, he would push Dean away.

It’s different right now though. Right this moment Dean could probably do anything to Sam, and he wouldn’t be shoved away. Sam wouldn’t react at all.

He pauses there for a second, his brain working in overdrive. Sammy wouldn’t feel a thing, Dean could just. He could easily run his hands down Sam’s sides, brush over his nipples, reach into Sam’s boxers, and Sam would never even know.

Still, he hesitates. Sam wouldn’t want this, he knows that. Dean does though, he wants is so bad, and it won’t hurt Sam. It won’t. So he reaches down, cups Sam’s dick through his underwear.

Sam’s cock is soft and small in his hand. So much smaller than any adult cock he’s ever come across.

Dean rubs it until it begins to fill out. Then he stops.

He hadn’t intended for Sam to get hard. If he dares think it to himself, he had almost hoped that Sam’s body was too young to get hard at all.

The indication that Sam can feel him, is getting pleasure out of what Dean’s doing, is nice though.

He thinks it over for a few more second before he starts rubbing Sam’s dick again.

Sam is still small, he decides, and it doesn’t really matter that he’s getting hard in the big scheme of things.

He reaches into the waistband to wrap his hand fully around Sam’s length.

"Oh fuck, Sammy," he whispers. Sam’s cock is hard, yes, but unlike before, when Dean couldn’t determine his size all that well, he can now feel exactly how small Sam is.

He starts to stroke Sam in earnest, and Sam arches into his touch. That’s when he realises that he wants to wake Sam up. He wants to look Sam in the eyes, wants Sam to know that Dean is the one who’s taking him, but he’s not quite drunk enough to forget that Sam doesn’t actually want this.

At some point, Sam’s mouth has parted and small sounds that probably are whimpers, but almost sound like moans are escaping him. Dean leans down to kiss him again, tries to swallow up every single one of the small sounds. They are going straight to his cock - his own rock-hard, terribly neglected cock, that he’d very much like to fuck Sam with.

Huh, fucking Sam. He hadn’t actually considered that. It seems so extreme, just thinking about it - like doing it would cross a line somehow. He doesn’t care about it though, because this might be his only chance.

He lets go of Sam and scrambles to his feet. He undresses as quickly as he can, given his drunken state. He fumbles a little with the buttons on his shirt, but he manages to get it off. Next goes the pants, and then the underwear. Dean’s erection springs free, red and leaking, and Dean can’t wait to see how nicely it’ll fit inside of Sammy, splitting his little baby boy open.

“You’re always willing to help out your big brother aren’t you?” Dean whispers. Or maybe he thinks it, he’s not sure. He feels a little hazy, and the only thing he can focus on, the only thing that isn’t cloudy, is Sam, lying on his back on the bed. Sam’s erection is straining against his underwear and… Wait, Sam’s still wearing underwear. That isn’t right, he shouldn’t be wearing anything at all. Dean gets down on the bed again, takes a hold on the sweat-stained fabric around Sam’s pretty little cock, and drags it down.

When the underwear is discarded, Dean wastes no time before getting his hands on Sam again. He might have tried to hold back before, but now, seeing Sam spread out, completely naked, face and dick both flushed red, and with sweat practically dripping from his young body, he doesn’t even try.

“Have to have you little man, and you gon’ take it like a champ.” There really is no reason why Dean should be talking to Sam, but it feels good to do so. It makes it all feel more real. Like it’s actually happening, that it isn’t just something he’s dreaming.

“Aren’t you a pretty boy? Yeah you are, gonna look even prettier when you’re stuffed full of my cock.”

Dean reaches one hand down behind Sam’s balls, rubs his sweat-slick fingers over Sam’s tight little hole. And then he presses in. Just one finger to start with, the sweat easing the way. He manages to get it all the way in to the first knuckle without Sam making any indication that he’s feeling any discomfort.

When he tries to push in further though, Sam squirms and makes one of the most delicious little whines Dean has ever heard.

He considers pulling his finger out. Decides against it. He spits once on Sam’s entrance. Some of the spit hits the bed, but enough lands on Sam’s ass. Dean keeps pushing, now with the extra slick easing the way.

“Wha’s goin’ on?”

It takes a moment for Dean to realise that it wasn’t him who said it. He looks up from where his finger is almost completely buried in Sam’s ass, and sees Sam rocking his head from side to side, eyelids fluttering. Dean stills his hand immediately.

“Shh, it’s okay Sammy, go back to sleep,” he whispers.

Sam’s eyelids stop fluttering, and his head lolls back onto where it laid before.

“…’kay Dean,” Sam murmurs.

Dean lets out a sharp breath he didn’t realise he was holding, and thinks to himself that he better make sure to add even more spit to his fingers before he attempts to insert anymore of them.

-

Three slick fingers thrusting in and out of Sam’s ass, and the kid hasn’t woken up yet. Dean hadn’t dared hope that he’d get this far, that he’d get away with this for so long. But he has. Sam is asleep, and it’s good, it’s so fucking good. Sam feels tight and warm, and the longer Dean fingers him, the harder it is to restrain himself from pulling his fingers out and start fucking him for real instead.

He waits though, continues to thrust his fingers in and out of his little Sammy until he’s absolutely sure that Sam is loose enough to be able to take him. Then he pulls his fingers out. He spits on his hand again and wraps it around his dick, knowing damn well that if he hurts Sam, if Sam wakes up, Dean won’t get to have this.

And damn it, he’s going to have this. So many years waiting, and he’s going to feel Sam, his little Sammy, squeezing around him.

Before he pushes in, he stops for a moment to bend down and kiss Sam again. He doesn’t stop kissing him while he pushes inside, dry heat engulfing him.

Dean feels lost to the world. He could die now and it wouldn’t matter, he doesn’t care that he’s going to hell for this. The fact that what he’s doing is something that is solely for his own enjoyment, to fuel his own sick need, should be bothering him, but it’s not. He has never felt so right before, so at ease. Dean wants to relish every second of it, which is why he doesn’t see it when Sam’s eyes shutters open. Why he doesn’t see Sam’s face contract in pain.

He does notice it when Sam starts speaking though.

“Oh God, oh God, Dean, hurts s’ much, wha-, what’s goin’ on, what’s…”

The confusion and the hurt in Sam’s voice makes him feel bad for a short moment, but he doesn’t feel as much like shit as he would have thought he would. That surprises him a bit, but he decides that it’s a good thing. It makes it easier for him to continue to sink his dick into Sam’s body.

“Shh Sammy, just let me do this, let me - oh fuck - let me do this Sam.”

He feels good. Sam is tight, so fucking tight, his little body is clearly not supposed to have a cock in it. Dean’s pretty sure that nothing on earth could make him stop.

“So good Sammy, it’s okay, I’m taking care of you little boy, feel so good.”

“Stop, De-Dean, you’re hurting me, will you just, please, get off me.” Sam’s starting to panic, and Dean can feel him tense up, feel how Sam’s ass is squeezing around him. If Dean looked down, he knows that he’d see tears rolling down his brother’s face, but it doesn’t matter. It’s not important. Sam will just have to deal with it, because Dean is feeling like heaven, and he is not going to stop.

Soon he has built a rhythm, fucking into Sam with slow, deep thrusts. Sam isn’t pliant, isn’t the adoring little brother who just wants to please his brother, but it doesn’t matter ‘cause it’s good, it’s really fucking good anyway. Dean tunes Sam’s whimpers and cries for help out and concentrates on Sam’s tight little hole, on how small he feels in his hands.

It’s easy, right up until the point where Sam tries to push him off.

-

Dean rarely gets angry at Sam. He loves Sam, and he doesn’t want to cause him any harm, but right now, Sam is stepping out of line. Soon, Sam will be back to normal, and fucking him then won’t feel nearly as satisfying, nearly as good. Dean has been good. He’s been a fucking saint. He’s refrained from touching Sam, from touching anyone that he shouldn’t, for so long. All those years when they were kids, he got through them. And when Sam grew bigger, older, when it got easier to keep his hands off him, he didn’t turn to other young bodies. He didn’t do anything.

So many times has he wished that he could go back, just to see his brother as he was. And now he has what he has always wanted. He’ll never get a chance like this again.

Dean will be damned if he lets Sam ruin this for him.

He grabs Sam’s arms, and presses them into the mattress.

“Fuck Sam, keep still!”

“Dean, you can’t, why are you…” Sam’s voice falters, and the next sentence is no louder than a whisper. “Will you please just stop?”

And Dean does stop. For about a second he stops, while he tries to apprehend what Sam just said to him. Because isn’t that just Sam? Always wanting Dean to accommodate himself to his wishes. It’s always about what Sam wants, he takes and he takes, and this time, just this one time, when Dean finally takes something back, he asks him to stop. Dean never asks for anything. What right does Sam think he has to blame Dean for taking what he wants? Why do he always want to stop Dean? Can’t Dean have something nice, just this one time?

“No, Sammy, no I don’t want to,” he grunts out, as he thrusts his hips again. And again.

He’s more brutal in his pace than he was before. Less gentle. The worry that he might hurt Sam has been pushed to the back of his mind.

Sam is writhing under him, squirming, still trying to get free while he sobs. Dean just puts more pressure on his hands.

“Can’t let you take this from me, Sam. Not this time.”

“Dean no, I don’t want. I don’t want this, get off me Dean, get o…”

Dean removes his right hand from Sam’s wrist and moves it to hold tightly over Sam’s mouth, silencing the stream of words. Sam tries to hit him with his now free left hand, but the angle is awkward and there isn’t much force to the blow. Dean just presses Sam’s head farther into the mattress and speeds up his pace.

“I want you Sam, want you so Goddamn much. You’re so pretty, all pretty and small, want you so much…”

Sam’s dick has gone completely soft now. The hardness from when Dean stimulated him while he was still asleep is a thing of memory, and Dean finds that it doesn’t bother him the least.

He’s doing this for his own pleasure, not Sam’s. And Sam’s soft cock adds another layer to the illusion that he is even younger than he looks at the moment. Too young to even get it up. He was was wrong when he thought that Sam being hard was a good thing - this is so much better.

Dean groans. Sam continue to sob, silently, all sounds obscured by Dean’s hand. He’s crying, really crying, and even though Dean is doing this for his own pleasure, the sight is starting to bother him a little.

Then Sam makes another attempt to get out from underneath Dean.

“Just fucking stop it, Sam!”

Dean pulls out, fast, and Sam lets out a scream that Dean doesn’t quite manage to silence. Then Dean takes a solid hold of Sam and turns him around so he lays with his front pressed into the bed.

Sam is struggling the best he can to get loose, but Dean isn’t worried. He’s stronger than Sam, just like he’s supposed to be. Sam should never have grown bigger than him.

He sits down on Sam’s legs, keeps them pressed tightly into the bed and manages to get Sam’s arms locked behind his back. Sam’s has turned his head, tries to look back at Dean. Dean lays his hand on Sammy’s cheek and pushes his head into the bed.

Tears are still spilling down Sam’s cheeks, and he’s not quite as properly silenced as he was before, but at least now he can’t trash around. It’s much better like that.

“That’s it baby boy, now you all still an’ good for me aren’t you? This ‘s much better, so much better, so pretty Sammy…”

Sam’s answer is muffled, and Dean pays no attention to it. He spits down on Sam’s abused little hole, and on his cock too. Then he lets go of Sam’s head for a moment in order to spread the spit on his cock and guide it back into Sam. As soon as he can feel that the head is inside, he takes a hold of Sam’s head again and presses it down while he pushes in.

Sam is screaming into the bed, but it doesn’t matter. His body is still, or almost so, and it’s so much easier to fuck Sam this way. He doesn’t have to see his little brother’s tears.

It isn’t long before Dean can feels his orgasm approaching. Right before he comes, he wrenches Sam’s head around. Sam’s wails are deafening for a moment, but then Dean presses his mouth roughly against Sam’s, bites and sucks, swallows down his little brother’s screams and that’s it.

He doesn’t pull out when he comes, doesn’t even consider the possibility until after he’s done.

When he pulls out, Dean thinks to himself that he might just have lost both himself and Sam. But as he drifts into sleep, next to the now silently crying Sam, the thought doesn’t really bother him all that much.

-

When he wakes up the next day with an aching head in an empty bed, he’s confused at first. He’s alone in the motel room, and… wait, isn’t that Sam’s bed he’s lying on? His head is spinning, and he feels like puking just from sitting up. There’s clothes scattered across the floor. Sam’s duffel is gone.

He tries to remember what happened last night, goes through everything he does remember, one thing at a time. They were on a hunt. Sam got hit with something, some kind of spell, he remembers that. He closes his eyes, tries to force himself to remember more.

De-ageing. That’s what it was. Sam got de-aged, to around 12, probably. Dean had run off to the bar as soon as Sam had gone to bed. He hadn’t wanted to be alone with Sam when he was like that, he remembers that. Which makes sense. Dean’s sick, he knows that, and he has a hard time controlling himself around, well. Not children as such but. Minors. And Sam as a little boy, he had wanted him so bad. He had thought that going to the bar would dull his, his feelings, his want, his…

Dean takes a sharp breath. He’s still feeling nauseous, and the memories that are starting to come back aren’t helping. To his horror he feels his cock swell as he remembers Sam around him, snug and tight, little body in front of him.

He’s always liked to think that he would never touch Sam. That he’d never hurt Sam like that, even if he long ago stopped trying to convince himself that he didn’t want to fuck children, and his little brother in particular. He liked to think that he could ignore it, but he can’t even make himself feel sorry.

He tries not to think as he stumbles into the bathroom and throws up. He wishes that the taste of vomit could distract him from the memories of pleasure, of fulfilment and relief. The lack of regret he’s feeling.

It doesn’t though, not at all.

Afterwards he looks around the room for a letter, note, anything that Sam might have left for him. He doesn’t find anything, and he’s almost glad.

  



End file.
